


King of the Damned

by stumblinginthestars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hell Flashbacks, M/M, Mark of Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stumblinginthestars/pseuds/stumblinginthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate version of 9.21 "King of the Damned." <br/>“You’re gonna be sorry you ever did this.” Dean growls.<br/>“Listen to me, pretty boy,” Abaddon hisses, clenching her fist and causing Dean to begin hacking up blood. Her voice takes on a contemptuous tone as she continues, “You’re the only one who will be sorry. I am a Knight of Hell and it’s new queen. What are you? You’re just some filthy mutt who came and thought they could challenge a purebred."”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. While the Walls Come Tumbling Down

 

                Dean had known it was a trap. He is just thinking of how he should have been more careful. Shouldn’t have even let Sam tag along even though his brother was in the basement whilst Abaddon had him pinned to the wall in some room on the fifth floor of this fancy ass hotel. Shouldn’t have let Sam call Cas to give him the “we found Abaddon at this address, just in case” phone call. These thoughts swirl around in his head, mixing with the red and black smears of wrath that he had grown familiar with since accepting the Mark of Cain. He holds his arm out, willing the Blade to come to him. And it does. Except Abaddon has had far more experience than he has in this line of work. Being a demon. And she uses her demon mojo to pin his wrist to the wall with more force, causing his grip on the Blade to weaken as he chokes for air.

                “Oh, Dean, honey,” her soothing voice and physical beauty are in sharp contrast to the nasty tone her voice has to it. “Did you really think that this would work?” She chuckles darkly, palming the side of Dean’s scruffy face before walking back to where she had set her martini, heels clacking on the hardwood.

                Crowley looks on quietly, eyes darting from Dean to Abaddon to the Blade while his fingers dig for the bullet lodged in his shoulder. But Abaddon pays him no mind as she sips her martini idly. Setting the drink aside once more, the Knight of Hell strides back towards Dean and wrenches the weapon from his grips. She turns it over in her grasp, seeming both intrigued and disgusted by the crude blade. She sets it on the coffee table beside her drink and turns back to Dean, looking at him hungrily.

                There’s a sudden grunt from Crowley and both Dean and Abaddon turn to see him with a bullet in between blood-coated fingers. “Toodles, love,” Crowley breathily jeers before disappearing with a snap of his fingers. Abaddon shrugs and turns back to her prize, saying, “Oh, well. Bigger fish.”

                “You’re gonna be sorry you ever did this.” Dean growls, his vision spotting black as Abaddon squeezes her fist tighter. And suddenly, Dean can no longer feel the unnatural rage associated with the Mark. It’s only pain and the slight buzz of a very human kind of anger.

                “Listen to me, pretty boy,” Abaddon hisses, clenching her fist and causing Dean to begin hacking up blood. Her voice takes on a contemptuous tone as she continues, “You’re the only one who will be sorry. I am a Knight of Hell and it’s new queen. What are you? You’re just some filthy mutt who came and thought they could challenge a purebred. You’re no more of a match for me than you were a match for Alastair.”

                Dean feels his heart skip a beat at the name he has forced to the back of his mind. _Blood is seeping down arms and flesh is being peeled away from the muscle._ Dean screws his eyes shut and he has to anchor himself to reality to fight off the flashbacks.

                Sam bursts through the door, wielding the demon blade. “Dean!” he cries out upon seeing that Abaddon has his brother pinned.

                Sam starts to race at the Knight of Hell, but she wordlessly extends her hand behind her, not even caring to look at Sam. Her powers send Sam flying across the room until he is pinned to the ground. He bellows at Abaddon to release Dean, but is paid no mind.

                Abaddon’s laughter is terrifying and she closes the gap between herself and Dean. She takes his face in her hands, stroking his jawbone with her thumb and holding him so he can’t jerk away. She leans forward until her lips brush the shell of his ear. “I’m sending you back to Hell, baby.” She whispers, her hot breath hitting Dean’s ear.

                Dean’s body stiffens. _The smell of burnt hair and flesh sting his broken nose._

                Abaddon pulls back to look at Dean, smirking at the terrified and faraway look in his eyes as she brushes her hair out of her face. “And, oh, do you have people ready and _waiting_ for you down there. They’ll make what Alastair did seem like a day at the park. I’ve been preparing my best torturers for you, sweetheart. We’re gonna break you, Dean Winchester. We’re going to make you and your silly Mark of Cain my best weapon ever.”

                Dean is no longer in the penthouse room with Abaddon. His mind is reeling, playing back memories he had forgotten. _He’s standing on bones in a sea of blood. Every bone in both his arms is broken._ He struggles to gasp in a breath, feeling the panic swirling through his brain like a toxin. He can’t breathe. _His lungs are perforated._ He can’t breathe. _Claws burrow in his flesh._ He can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe_.

                The room explodes into blinding white light. Abaddon’s scream pierces Dean’s ears as her grip on him is gone and sends him falling to the floor. He curls into a protective ball on his side, eyes clamped shut and hands over his ears. The light fades and the noise stops, but Dean stays in the fetal position. No. No. No. She’s sent him back to Hell. If he opens his eyes, he’ll see Alastair’s face. He hears people call his name. Demons calling his name.

                _And, oh, do you have people ready and waiting for you down there._

                No. No. No. A hand clamps on his shoulder and he flinches, stifling a cry. “Dean? _Dean_?!” He wants to fight back. But he knows he can’t. _We’re gonna break you, Dean Winchester._ “Please.” The word escapes from his bloody lips like he’s a scratched record. “Please, no. Please. Please.”

                Two fingers touch his forehead and he slips into darkness.


	2. Something Sweet to Get Me By

 

                Dean blearily opens his eyes. Everything around him is out of focus and fuzzy. He feels light-headed. He tries to think back to what happened before he woke up. Before the calming blackness overtook him. Abaddon. Abaddon had him. His breath hitches as he remembers her threat.

                _I’m sending you back to Hell, baby._

                He shoots up to a seat. He looks around, still slightly dizzy. He’s not in Hell. He’s in a crappy motel room. He is not in Hell. “Dean?” a voice softly asks from the bed beside the one he sits on. He rubs his eyes and looks over to see Castiel sitting on the edge of the double bed beside his. The angel looks… exhausted.

                “Heya, Cas,” Dean quietly responds, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed so that he is seated facing Castiel. His forearms rest on his knees and he takes in a deep breath before dropping his head to be cradled in his hands.

                “I apologize for knocking you out like that,” Castiel says after a minute of silence. “I know that you find it unconfortable.”

                Dean shakes his head, murmuring, “No. ‘s alright… I needed that.”

                He can feel Castiel’s worried gaze on him and knows the question that is coming next. “Dean… do you want to talk about it?”

                “Cas, where’s Sam?” Dean avoids the topic, lifting his head to scan the rest of the motel room.

                “I sent him out with a few of the angels in my army. They are disposing of the Blade.” Castiel’s gaze flits from his clasped hands to where Dean is sitting across from him.

                Dean frowns, unconsciously touching the Mark on his forearm. “What about Abaddon? How am I supposed to stop her now?” he angrily objects, feeling the unwelcome itch for the Blade in his fingertips.

                Castiel shakes his head. “We will find another way. Some angels say there is another tablet about Knights of Hell.”

                “How do you plan on reading that tablet, Cas?” Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Remember the part where I got the only prophet killed?”

                A pained look crosses Castiel’s face before he sets his jaw. “Once we find and capture Metatron, he will read it. Don’t we always find a way around the impossible?”

                “Well, what happened to Abaddon? I know you don’t have enough juice to kill her. So… What happened?”

                “What do you remember, Dean?”

                “I… Uh, she was holding me to the wall and Sam to the floor. She said…” he trails off, waving his hand. “There was a bright flash of light, I fell from the wall, and blackness. I know you knocked me out,” Dean taps his forehead with his index finger and continues, “but what was that light?”

                Castiel purses his lips. “I heard Sam, actually. He called to me, said you were in danger. So, I came to his call. Abaddon had you and Sam pinned and she was… threatening you.” Castiel’s voice takes on a different tone and Dean looks up and sees the look of pure rage in Castiel’s eyes. Like a hurricane is brewing behind the bright blue orbs.

                “She said she was sending me back…” Dean’s voice is so hollow.

                “Yes. And I was… enraged. I exposed my true form for a second.”

                “That was the light.”

                Castiel nods once, continuing, “She didn’t lose her eyes. Seeing an angel’s true form is deadly to almost every creature out there. While it may not have killed Abaddon, she is severely wounded right now and it will take her a long period of time to recover.”

                “What about you, Cas? What happened to you?” Dean asks as he takes in Castiel’s fatigued appearance and the human-like way Castiel has circles forming under his eyes.

                Castiel drops his head and says, “Dean, my grace is… it’s fading.”

                “What?”

                “I acquired an enemy angel’s grace—this is how I became an angel again, but… It is not compatible with me and I am running out of ‘juice.’” Castiel sighs, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

                “Cas,” Dean breathes, all concern and terror. “When you showed Abaddon your true form… Didn’t that drain you?”

                “It did drain me. An exceptional amount, actually.”

                “Then, why—“

                “ _Because she threatened to take you back to Hell, Dean_.” Lightning flashes behind Castiel’s eyes as he looks at Dean fiercely. “Because she threatened the one I love and I couldn’t let you go through that. Never again. I could not get to you fast enough the first time and I would rather burn out completely than fail you again.”

                “You don’t mean that,” Dean chokes out, feeling the guilt of Castiel’s draining grace weigh on his shoulders.

                “Don’t presume to tell me how it is I feel about you.” Castiel growls with agitation.

                Dean shakes his head, but stays quiet. Castiel leans forward, placing a hand on Dean’s bicep. Dean meets Castiel’s gaze and the angel smiles lightly at Dean. Dean looks away. “Why do you… Why do you care about me, Cas? I’m poison.” He mutters, shoulders sagging as he repeats what he had said to Sam a month ago.

                Castiel’s hands find Dean’s face, one cups his chin while the other lightly caresses his cheek. “You are not poison, Dean. Your soul shined in the depths of Hell and it still shines now. You are a kind man. You have flaws, yes, but you are human and such is the way of humanity. You are the best thing to have ever happened to me and I…” Castiel pauses and Dean looks up and meets Castiel’s gaze. The angel looks conflicted, as though he is debating whether or not he should finish. He takes a deep breath and looks at Dean, unfaltering as he admits, “I love every scar on your body and every flaw and every inch of your soul. I love you, Dean Winchester.”

                Dean feels his heart flutter and suddenly finds his hands grasping Castiel’s trench coat as though it’s a lifeline and burying his face in the angel’s shoulder and letting tears flow from his eyes. Castiel moves so that he is sitting alongside Dean on the bed, rubbing the hunter’s back soothingly. Dean looks up and cups Castiel’s face, bringing their lips together in kiss after kiss after kiss. “Cas,” he says between each press of lips.

                Minutes later, Dean and Castiel are laying side by side on the bed, legs tangled together. Neither of them cared to remove their shoes. Dean is fading out from exhaustion brought on by the day’s emotions. Castiel is running his fingers through Dean’s hair, consoling the broken man with a kiss on the forehead. Dean curls closer to Castiel, on the edge of sleep.

                “Don’t leave me, Cas,” he slurs before succumbing to the numbness of sleep.

                “Never.” Castiel whispers back.

                And, for a moment, everything is okay.


End file.
